This is How a World Ends
by azamystic
Summary: Each boy left Hogwarts after his seventh year, neither intending to ever set eyes on the other again. But after nine years their careers cause them to cross paths. No one ever said fate's sense of humor wasn't cruel. RonDraco
1. Some Say the World Will End in Fire

This is how a World Ends

Chapter 1: Some Say the World Will End in Fire

Disclaimer: I wasn't entirely sure why these were needed until I came across Cassie Clare's name. So, I don't own it, and I think I took a line from Herbie Brennan's Faerie Wars. No copy right infringement intended.

A/n: So, this is loosely based on the poem 'Fire and Ice' by Robert Frost, as you probably noticed from the title of the chapter. If any of you are waiting on A Weasley Tradition, which is probably very few of you, it might be a while. .

A/n2: This has a few OC's, which I've never attempted before. None are Mary-Sues, of that I'm positive. And yes, I'm aware that Alwin isn't really a name. For some reason I thought it was while I was writing it, and now he won't let me change it.

………

As far as days went, this one completely tipped the scales in favor of average, which didn't make sense, really, seeing as if the day was average; the scales wouldn't be tipped at all.

And because the whole world was in agreement of this day's level of interest, an entire sidewalk full of people was staring at the young man who seemed to be unaware that this twenty-four hour period had already received a label. Or maybe entire sidewalks full of people always stared at young men screaming at no one in particular ranting on about being lost.

Not that this young man cared in the slightest. When had Ronald Weasley ever cared about who stared at him? Because, more importantly, when had Ronald Weasley ever gotten lost?

Well, not exactly lost, he knew where he was, but he didn't know where he was supposed to be. And direction had always been a strong point of his too. But no matter how many times he reread the instructions, no matter how many times he started over, and no matter which point he started from, he always ended up right here.

After try number twenty-three, he determined that the directions were wrong, and the boss could just shove it, because there was no use in trying to pinpoint the source of unauthorized magic if he couldn't find the unauthorized magic to begin with.

There was absolutely no magical signature in this part of the city, and hadn't been for over two months. Seeing as the complaint had been made little less than a week ago, it didn't take a genius to figure out that this wasn't the right place. And the average idiot could figure out that screaming nonsense at the top of his lungs wasn't going to help either.

He slid down the outside wall of a building that looked like it might have, in one point of its history, been a hair salon. He fiddled with the crumpled, stepped on, and generally much abused piece of parchment. Maybe this was a test of some sort, something to keep him on his toes. What to do when given an insufficient amount of information. That sounded like something the chief would do.

He stared idly at the by now much hated scrap of parchment and turned it over in his hands. His eyes widened comically, his mouth was hanging out somewhere around his knees, and he was two millimeters away from screaming again. How, in all this time, had he not noticed the directions had a fucking back?

………

Now positive that he was in the right general area at least, and hoping that Richard and Brian never found out about this particular mishap, he focused his energies on finding the location of some highly specialized, yet unauthorized magic. The sheer complexity of the spells that were reported led Ron to believe that he wasn't dealing with a kid who didn't realize he needed a permit for a cloaking charm.

Well, there was nothing much he could do without a lead. Or lunch, a growl from his stomach informed him.

There was a diner about two blocks down from where he was now that served the best hamburgers in the world. Or so the sign outside proclaimed. They actually tasted roughly of sawdust, but the place was cheap, and he couldn't afford much else right now.

……….

The bell above the diner's door that had taken weeks to get used to without jumping six inches off the ground was ignored as he walked in, slightly dejected. He had been hoping that his luck with previous investigations would decide to hang around a little longer. He was starting to get used to finding leads early and settling cases within the first few days. He'd almost been expecting to walk past the residence on his way here.

"Hey John. The usual?" A blond woman who looked like she had endured more than her fair share of life asked. The New York accent that had only faded slightly in the past two years seemed out of place in this English diner.

"The usual sounds great Marie," he replied, while pulling out a stool in front of the bar.

Ten minutes later something resembling a heart attack on a plate sat in front of him, steaming.

"You ever gonna tell me your name, John?" she asked a few minutes later, leaning against the bar while simultaneously refilling his drink.

He graced her with a small smile. "I like the name John, Marie." She shrugged, and resumed wiping the only clean spot of the counter with a rag that looked like it may have been useful twenty years ago.

Looking around, there was only one other person there that he could see. Not surprising, this place was never crowded.

Ron could only see the back of his head, ginger hair partially covered by a ball cap. He was sitting in a corner booth, muttering to a steaming cup of tea. Ron was almost positive he heard the word muggle cross his lips. Remembering the case at hand, he assessed the situation.

Other than the fact that he liked to converse with his beverages, he completely lacked a suspicious air. There may not be a point in following him home. But where there was one wizard, there was probably another one. Ok, so maybe that wasn't true either, but it couldn't hurt. He looked almost done anyway.

So Ron waited. And waited. And waited some more. The other bloke's tea must have been refilled six times now, and he'd worked his way through four plates of scones. Then he'd proceeded to just sit there. Didn't place another order, didn't take out a paper and immerse himself in the world's problems. He sat, and stared.

Nearly an hour and a half later Ron found himself wondering what he could have with the fish and chips that Richard would eat and Brian's allergies would tolerate. Which made him recall the poor excuse for a sandwich he had consumed two hours ago, which made him wonder why he'd been there so long, which of course, made him remember the possible suspect sitting in a corner booth and wonder what could possibly be so fascinating about the opposite wall that he saw fit to stare at it for unnaturally long periods of time.

And since his mind was on overdrive anyway, a theory presented itself. What if this man was waiting for him?

Before that sickening feeling that you get deep inside your stomach when you realize you've gone from predator to prey could settle in, he shot his head around to look at the booth.

It was empty.

But that didn't make sense, he would have heard the b…he felt it behind him before he heard it. That didn't mean he didn't jump through the roof anyways.

"Boo"

He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from screaming. Then the unmistakable high-pitched giggling of one of his colleagues filled the room.

"Alwin, you fucking prick!" That did nothing but make him laugh louder, an annoying and extremely juvenile sound. It carried on a few seconds more, and then stopped abruptly. Just one of the many peculiarities of Alwin. There was never an in between. He either was or he wasn't.

His chest puffed out, his eyes took on a familiar gleam, and Ron braced himself for the spew of self-praise he knew was forthcoming.

"That was a pretty good illusionment charm don't you think Weasley? One of my own." Yes, he really was that insecure. Ron wasn't feeling up to a game of 'let's make Alwin feel important.'

"Isn't everything one of your own Alwin? You can barely work standard magic." Two months ago the barb would have had him in near tears. Now…

"Yeah, but no one can work my magic other than me."

And that's what you got when you constantly stroked his ego. Ron rolled his eyes and gave in. He'd heard it before, he'd hear it again. Alwin was an asset to the force; they had one up on the criminals, blah blah blah. He appreciated his abilities; truly he did, but if only the kid wasn't so high maintenance!

Spells taught in school, the universal magic everyone could operate, Alwin could do nothing with. Spells that he made up, or the way he put the Latin together or something, he mastered. The ministry had wanted to study the anomaly that was Alwin for quite some time now, but they could never to manage to find the right loophole. And just like with every anomaly there were exceptions. He could manage a lumos, and Adam from unit six could cast one of Alwin's shield charms.

It was a very tricky business and Ron chose to stay clear of it, as far away as he could manage, actually. And that had absolutely nothing to do with Alwin's pompous yet clingy nature. Not a thing.

"We shouldn't even be having this conversation Alwin. Mainly because you shouldn't be here. How did you miss the fact that it was called '_Weasley's_ intelligence gathering mission' in the three and a half _hour _debriefing?"

"Chief wanted me to partner up with you one this one!" His voice almost had a pleading quality to it. Ron didn't believe it for a second.

"You're eighteen Alwin. I was twenty-one before I went on my first partnered assignment, and even then my partner made me wait in the car."

"No, I'm serious! Look!" He fumbled around with the pockets of his muggle jeans, his movements becoming more panicked as it became increasingly obvious that whatever he was looking for wasn't there.

His eyes sought out Ron's. "I-I….I s-swear I…"Ron rolled his eyes, and placed his hand on the quivering shoulder of the distressed young man. Without breaking eye contact, he reached deftly into Alwin's breast pocket, and emerged with a piece of parchment.

"Is this what you're looking for?" He tried hard not to let the smirk escape at Alwin's expression.

"How did you….?" The awed tone was priceless.

"Lucky guess." Ron unfolded and glanced at the parchment; his eyes widened as he recognized the perfectly indiscernible handwriting of the chief. There were only two sentences.

'Show him the ropes. Don't kill him.'

It might have said 'Snow on the slopes. Good skiing,' but given the circumstances he took the liberty of assuming it was the former.

Ron took in Alwin's disillusioned appearance. His mud coloured hair fell into his eyes. His posture was horrendous. His feet were far too large for his body, and his ill fitting clothes made him look younger than he actually was. The kid was no where near ready for this.

"Go back to the station Alwin." The tone didn't leave any room for argument. So of course he got one.

"But chief said…" He was getting defensive. That was never a good thing.

"No, I can't believe chief would even think about sending you out here. It could get really dangerous really fast. You're special, yes. You can do great things with your magic. But you aren't ready. Go back to the station." Ron readied himself for the explosion that was about to come, and wondered what the hell he was going to do about it. He couldn't manage Alwin on his own.

He had just started wondering if he could call Brian or Anderson for back up when Alwin simply scuffed his foot against the floor.

"Aw man. I was positive you wouldn't catch the forgery. I thought I had it down perfect."

Ron considered counting to ten, but he knew he wouldn't make it. He skipped straight to the shouting.

"You did what!" Alwin's face took on a surprised expression. Apparently he thought Ron had already figured it out.

"Nothing, I just…"

"You just what? Tried to fake you way onto the field that's what!"

"Shh!" He waved his hands in a shushing motion. "Weasley, you should keep it down."

I should keep…" Ron seemed unable to complete the sentence. "No, I should take you over my knee is what I should do."

Alwin's eyes widened considerably at this. He looked like he was going to protest being degraded in such a manner, but Ron was no where near done with him yet.

"I'll be as loud as I bloody well like and you're going to stand there and listen for once. There's a reason you're not out here yet. There's a reason chief hasn't assigned you anything yet. You're not ready. You think you can handle things because no one can counter you in a duel. But the situations out here rarely play out so neatly as to end in a formal wizard's duel. And even if they did, who's to say you wouldn't freeze up? You need more training and more time. Under no circumstances are you to ever pull something like this ever again."

Ron paused for breath. Again this had the potential to turn into something very dangerous. The warning signs were obvious.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Alwin looked about ready to explode. Being talked down to in public was obviously not the norm for him. There was a definite flush to the caramel colored skin, and his eyes shone intensely, almost like he was holding back tears.

"I asked if I was clear." Ron was not going to let Alwin take control of this situation.

There was only a moment's more hesitation before a defiantly laced 'Yes captain' made its way out.

"Good. Now go back to the station." He restrained himself from indulging in the victory fist pump. His authority was firmly in control and he had avoided being blown off the face of the planet.

Alwin turned to leave, outrage clear even in his posture. "Oh, and Alwin?"

He stopped walking, but didn't bother turning around.

"I don't see a need for the boss to know about this." Alwin spun around abruptly, his eyes positively shining.

"Are you serious Weasley? Oh thanks! Thanks a lot!" he made a move as if to hug Ron, thought better of it and practically skipped out of the door into a neighboring alley, where he would no doubt disapparate.

Once he was gone Ron ran his fingers through his hair and questioned the air. "What did I ever do to anyone?"

Marie appeared out of practically nowhere. "I didn't peg you as a cop John. Or the brotherly type." Ron noticed that even though she now knew his name, she still called him John.

"Well, I'm full of surprises Marie." He replied with a wink.

Realizing that Alwin wouldn't be returning to pay his bill, Ron inquired as to how much he owed. Wincing at the ridiculous price for a cheap diner tab he sadly pulled out his wallet and paid the due amount.

He seriously needed to get back on this investigation. Almost the entire day was gone, and he was no closer to finding the person than he had been this morning.

Marie said something that he didn't quite catch as she handed back his change.

"Sorry. I'm a little out of it today. What was that?" She seemed to consider whether or not to repeat herself, but only for a moment.

"What was all that about magic John?" If there had been anything in his mouth he would have choked.

"What on earth are you talking about?" His voice sounded shaky even to him. His heart was pounding and possible explanations flew through his mind.

"I heard that boy. He was talking about wizards and charms and magic…" Ron didn't have enough time to think of a response before she started talking again. "Where I come from, nothing is impossible. And it sure would explain a hell of a lot of things. Like how the sugar put itself in your tea or how that book you were studying turned its own pages."

There was no way to explain that away. He had gotten careless, and muggles had seen.

Chief was going to kill him.

Just as he was preparing to bluff his way through this whole situation he felt it. The magical signature that he was looking for was in a one mile radius.

"I've got to run!" He called to the waitress over his shoulder. He was halfway out the door before he pulled out his wand.

"Oh, and Marie?" She barely had time to register the wand before he spoke again. "Obliviate."

A/n: So, this story is planned. It's supposed to be about 9 or so chapters, each corresponding with a verse. Tell me what you think, I'd love to hear it!


	2. Some say in Ice

This is How a World Ends

Chapter 2: Some Say in Ice

A/n: And here's the very late chapter two

……

It was going to be another long night. This research wasn't even halfway finished, those reports were still sitting on his desk, still contemplating starting themselves, there were a few more client's files to review, and if Bachlund make one more fucking comment…

A devilishly good looking older man stuck his head through the office door. "You've got a lot of work left Malfoy!" Right on cue.

Taking a few moments to decide that homicide really wasn't worth it at this point, Draco resignedly went back to his research.

He had concluded months ago that it would take a herd of stampeding griffins to get this guy off his ass. Bachlund had been riding his case since day one, and would probably continue to do so until a new fish arrived. Draco figured it was because he was prettier than Bachlund. But there were still two and a half more years before the firm took on another rookie. He had it marked on his calendar and everything.

Hope of maybe a couple hours of sleep on the couch brought his attention back to his work. How had he gotten this far behind anyway? He flashed back to his four of five weeknights spent at the bar this week and the subsequent hangovers that didn't agree with his work schedule.

Oh yeah. That was how.

He made as if to open a desk drawer, and then remembered that Tim had confiscated his firewhiskey a week ago. Thus producing his need to go to the bar.

This was all Tim's fault.

And that stupid wanker was on vacation with his family for two weeks so he couldn't even bitch at him about it. But at least Tim had found it. He'd take the mild-mannered lumpy co-worker over Bachlund any day.

So sighing and going back to his books, Draco prepared himself for the next several buzz free hours. It was going to be a long night.

Consciousness was slow in returning. Various things would come into focus and then fade back out. Dreams mingled with reality, and everything was blissfully nonsensical. That was, of course, until Bachlund and his good looks decided to intrude.

"Sleeping on the job this early in the morning Malfoy?" Why was his voice always so Goddamned cocky?

Hold on…on the job? Wait…why was he…?

He became painfully aware of the sharp crick in his neck, most likely from falling asleep on his desk, he realized ruefully.

Why he had slept at work was still a mystery, and shaking the feeling that the evil sheep from his dream were helping the French take over the whole south of Africa was proving harder than he expected.

But Bachlund was talking again, and Draco supposed he should pay attention. He might even get a few things cleared up.

"…that work you were supposed to finish…" Part of Bachlund's phrase managed to get comprehended.

That work! That was right. He had gotten behind and needed to pull an all nighter at the office in order to catch up. He had finished everything except those reports, which were only about a quarter done. Which was fine. They didn't need to be turned in until about 8:00 this morning.

His boss was already halfway out of his office.

"Bachlund?" He turned to face him. "What time is it?" His voice was still thick with sleep.

"About 7:30, fish," Bachlund answered with his omnipresent smirk.

Draco waited until Bachlund was out the door and around the corner before slamming his head against the desk.

…

Draco decided that if the drinking didn't kill him, the second hand smoke most definitely would.

Out of all the clean, respectable bars the city had to offer, the only slummy one happened to be the closest to his flat. Experience had taught him that apparating less than sober never turned out well, so any bar he visited needed to be within drunk walking distance of a place to sleep. Not that apparating distance was all that important for another six months.

He numbly accepted the fourth drink the bartender, Frank, he believed his name was, handed him, while trying not to inhale anywhere near the man.

Those reports had not gotten done, he reflected darkly. James Bachlund was not happy with him at all. As a rule, Draco didn't typically care who he pissed off. But when that person's feelings towards him directly correlated with the size of his paycheck, it mattered.

Surprised when the glass he brought to his lips contained no more liquid, he ordered another. He wondered faintly if this was what most people would call a drinking problem.

The bar tender shot him a concerned glance.

Probably

"Mr. Malfoy!" a voice called.

Who the hell could that be?

The voice called his name again, irritated this time. He turned around in stool, only to come face to face with that little squib boy Bachlund kept around the office. He looked vaguely miffed.

"How did you get in here…" His voice trailed off uncertainly.

"Mark," he replied shortly. "And it's none of your concern how I got in here." His Irish accent was thick. "I've only been callin' your name for five minutes now." He examined Draco's face a little too thoroughly for comfort. "Exactly how drunk are you?"

"Enough. What is it, exactly, that you want?" Mark sighed melodramatically.

'Christ,' Draco thought, 'this boy was a right drama queen.'

"The next case is yours. My mast…" There he flushed and hesitated for a moment. "Err…your boss, that is to say Mr. Bachlund, is full for the next eight months, Mr. Alberts is still vacationing with his family, and I think…" He flipped through a pile of papers Draco hadn't noticed. "Mr. Edwards just quit."

Draco held up a hand for the boy to stop. His alcohol addled brain needed time to process the load of information this boy had just dumped on him. He decided to work backwards.

Edwards-he had never bothered to remember the man's first name-had quit? As in, the last five hours? He seriously needed to pay more attention at work.

Of course Tim was still on vacation. Stupid wanker.

And it was no surprise that Bachlund had his calendar full for the next eight months. He was the best lawyer in the wizarding world. Give him enough money and the man could probe the sun rose in the West and set in the East. He was just that convincing.

Lastly, Mark's error of speech made him rethink the nature of Bachlund and that boy's relationship, and if he was right, would be just the kind of blackmail he needed to get his salary back where he wanted it.

That was of course, if he could remember it in the morning. Maybe he should write it down. He found a napkin and looked futilely for a pen for about five seconds before forgetting what he was looking for.

He waved for him to continue. Mark looked distinctly peeved again.

"Anyway, you're the only one qualified for this kind of trial now."

His first trial. Oh joy. He nodded to show he understood.

Mark narrowed his eyes. "That means you'll need to come in tomorrow."

Draco considered slamming his head down against a hard wooden surface for the second time in an eight hour period. He was beginning to develop an intense personal dislike for this particular squib.

Refusing to return the parting glare, Draco watched Mark leave, and didn't fail to notice him slip a was of cash into the bouncer's hand, or the lingering sultry glance.

And _that_ was how he had gotten in here. He knew the boy couldn't be older than sixteen.

Eww

Maybe it would actually be better to forget certain details of this little...encounter. Hmm...peace of mind or blackmail? He'd let his memory of the situation answer for him.

He took in his surrounding, as if expecting them to change because he was actually going to be doing what he had been training to do for two years now.

The second hand smoke still hung thick in the air, and all he could feel was slight irritation that he'd have to get up in the morning.


End file.
